


Murderer

by 9r7g5h



Category: Tangled (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9r7g5h/pseuds/9r7g5h
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was many things, but he was not a murderer. Not until tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murderer

Despite what some might think, he did not consider himself to have multiple personalities. Instead, he was like a many sided coin, or perhaps a puzzle, hundreds of different pieces fitting together to make a perfect whole, to make the man that he was. Pieces that he just so happened to exchange with one another depending on the situation.

For polite and formal company, he was Prince Eugene, a man who cared about his subjects and who could go on and on for hours about the different political aspects of running a kingdom. He knew all the social niceties and customs that came with being part of the upper class, almost as if he had been born and raised there instead of in the streets. He had a way with words that won over even the coldest of ambassadors, his natural charm soon getting the Prince of the Frozen Wastes to sign a trade agreement that seven generations of his family had been refusing for the last four hundred years. He sat in on council meetings, voicing his well thought out opinions on how the plans should proceed in such a way that they were almost always followed to the letter, everyone quietly overlooking that what he said was exactly what the King wanted. He was husband to Princess Rapunzel, the future King of Corona. And almost everyone would say he was perfect for the job.

When he was in just as polite but less formal company, he was known by everyone just as Eugene, the exception being the guards he had made friends with over the years, their fascination with calling everyone by a drunken shortening of their last name earning him the title of ‘Fitzy.’ He was a wonderful son-in-law, a loving husband, and a good friend, someone who could always be counted on to have their back. He was a fun guy to have around, one who could hold his drink better than half the guards in the barracks when a group of them went out for a night at the town pub. He kept everyone entertained with stories from his past, his matter of fact voice embellishing his stories more than any exaggeration could, for it made them seem just that much truer. When he was not with his friends, he could be found wandering the gardens or the castle halls with Rapunzel, helping her with whatever adventure she had for them at day, whether it be riding Max through the countryside to visit the surrounding villages or just painting a new mural. And on the few occasions he was without his beloved, he could be found with one of her parents, discussing politics not as the Prince, but as a commoner, giving them an alternate perspective to the decisions that faced them daily. He was an overall good human being.

When he was at the Snugly Duckling or one of the other thug pubs, he was Flynn Rider, the cold and selfish thief who would rob you quicker than you could blink. He was a crude and rude son of a bitch, quickly joining into bar fights if he was not the one to start them. Despite the knowledge that he had not entertained a woman besides his wife for many years, that did not stop the ones that drifted between the men from batting their eyelashes at him, adjusting their tops so they hung just a tad bit lower. Nor did it stop him from looking and throwing a few compliments here and there. Both parties knew there was no real feeling behind it, that it would never leave the main floor of the pub, that he was so loyal and in love with his wife that the moment he looked away from them they were gone from his mind, never again to return, so if one or the other got a free drink out of it in the process, then so be it. They would keep up their little game of glances, never touching, the night eventually ending with him returning to his beloved Rapunzel while they entered the room of their next customer. He kept his skills in line there too, emptying a few foolish wannabes of their purses to pay for his drink before quickly skipping out, leaving the fools to morn their losses. Although being Flynn was a rare occurrence, a part that was quickly becoming the smallest side of him, it was the only time he could be completely free of his multiple responsibilities, and so he allowed Flynn to live within his mind.

Prince, Eugene, Flynn, he was a lot of different things. He was the future ruler of a wonderful kingdom, he was a loyal friend and a devoted husband to the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world, and he was a treacherous thief. He was a lot of things, but he was not a murderer.

Until tonight.

Stalking his prey through the darkness, he allowed the newest side of him to take control, this nameless mask that was so full of hatred that it could consume the world, withering the planet into a dull husk, the life chocked out of it by a noose made from his disgust and anger. His target was unaware of his approach, unknowingly bringing its own demise upon it by taking the shortcut through the alleyways, wandering deeper and deeper into the heart of the slums that surrounded the city. All around him, the foreign tongue of the native people blended together into a blur, rendering itself unintelligible even to someone who could have spoken it. But he really could not care, could not care that he had no way of getting out of the city, could not care that he was lost in the middle of hostile territory, could not even care that by morning his head could be detached from the rest of him if he should be caught.

All he cared about was the knife in his hands and the way it would feel when he slit the bastard’s throat.

It was not a moment later that he saw his chance, the man he was pursuing entering an ally that was darker and more deserted than any of the others he had traveled down. Without missing a beat, he fell from the rooftops he had been traveling across behind him, placing his gloved hand over the man’s mouth to muffle the expected yells. Raising the knife so its silver blade glimmered in the moon’s cold light, he waited as its body stiffened against his own, the condemned man’s breathing coming in terrified pants. Tightening his grip on his prey, he leaned forward and whispered his message into the man’s ear, his voice the final thing he would ever hear.

“This is for her.”

With a silent roar Eugene plunged the knife into the man’s stomach, his glove growing warm and wet with his blood as he twisted the knife, just barely keeping hold of the man’s mouth as he writhed in the throes of death. With each twist of the blade he repeated his message, the words hissing through his teeth long after the man had fallen still, his body quickly growing cold in the unusually chill summer’s night.

“This is for her, this is for her, this is for her…”

When he finally let the body fall, the knife still embedded into his abdomen, his target’s blood had already dried, caking the front of his clothes in a rust colored splatter. For a few moments he stood there, just staring at the dead man before him, waiting for the guilt and horror at what he had done to hit him, for him to completely realize what he had just done. He had just killed a man, another human being.

And he was glad.

Although the side of him that had been born purely out of hate and anger was slowly dying, returning to whatever pit it lived in the recesses of his mind, enough of it still lingered that he could relish the outcome of his task, could bask in the joy and relief that had come with the death of the nameless man before him. Turning away from the body, he once more took to the rooftops, the winding streets and their inhabitants below no longer mattering to him.

His task was done, and he could go home.

It did not take him long to reach the edge of his homeland, all evidence of his mission destroyed by a quick washing in a river and the flames of a campfire. He had never regained his knife, instead leaving it where he had last sheathed it, in the belly of the dog he had left in the ally. It was a plain knife, common all throughout the surrounding kingdoms, so it had been no great loss. It had brought him that extra twinge of satisfaction the only time he had looked back, seeing the handle of his blade protruding from his prey, and figure it would help lead any officers who wanted to try and catch him in the wrong direction. Besides, weren’t you not supposed to tamper with a crime scene?

It was still a few hours before dawn when he finally arrived at the palace, the guards recognizing him even in the darkness. Without a single word they admitted him in, their exchange of glances the only thing that spoke of their confusion at seeing him. Once inside, it did not take much time to get the horse he had borrowed settled before he was able to make his way to his chambers, sleep beginning to drag on his eyes.

All thoughts of sleep were banished from his mind as he entered his room and saw the slumbering form of his wife.

Hesitating at the door, he watched as, for the first time in a while, she slept in their bed, her face pressed into the pillows that surrounded her, creating a wall between her and the rest of the world. Crossing to the other side of the room, he paused as a whimper tore itself from her throat, filling him with the desire to reach out and hold her, to comfort her in a way she had yet to let him. Instead he stepped away, folding his arms across his chest as he watched her, the noises slowly fading away. He hated that it was necessary, this separation between them, but he knew that his touch would just make it a thousand times worse, at least for now.

He knew what she was dreaming about, and it killed him to know that, even if she did allow him near her, to hold her until the nightmare faded away into blissful dreams, he could never change the events of the past. He could never go back to that single moment when she needed him the most, when he should have been there to protect her. He could not change the fact that he had failed her, had broken his promise to never let anyone hurt her again. He could never change the fact that he had failed to be there for her, had allowed her to be hurt in one of the worse ways possible.

He could never change that fact that the child growing inside of her might not be his, but at least he had made sure that its possible father had paid for his crimes.


End file.
